


as is life, in spite of war

by blueh



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (did i rlly write a fic if it doesnt have some sort of identity reveal), (oh my god they were roommates), Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Identity Reveal, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home Mid-Credits Scene, Team as Family, sam and bucky are roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 12:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21338002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueh/pseuds/blueh
Summary: The words blur together just the slightest amount with the sudden dread that curls in his stomach, “—with NBC news reporting live in New York City. Following the release of footage captured by locally acclaimed hero Mysterio, Spider-Man is revealed to be sixteen-year-old high school student Peter Parker. His last known sighting was earlier this afternoon in Times Square. If anyone has any information on his whereabouts, please report it to your local police station—”Sam Wilson drops the remote. “What thefuck?”or: in the aftermath of Mysterio, Sam—along with his accidental roommate Bucky Barnes—find and take in Peter Parker by happenstance. Sam’s not going to get attached to some punk-ass spider-kid from Queens. He’snot.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, Peter Parker & Sam Wilson
Comments: 80
Kudos: 2287
Collections: Good fics, Peter Parker Stories, Silver and Gold, Spider-Man Public Identity Reveal





	as is life, in spite of war

**Author's Note:**

> holds knife u keep ur civil war teams away from my stories this is a found family house ONLY

Sometimes Sam Wilson feels like he’s falling.

It’s like his wings aren’t there, his suit isn’t working. He’s plummeting a hundred miles an hour with no one but the wind to catch him. Other times it feels like he’s there, in the sky, diving faster and faster in a desperate attempt to catch whoever is underneath him. Occasionally, he sees Riley with his broken wings, or Steve jumping from _that damn helicarrier_—

He’s always been just a bit too slow to catch them.

Then he wakes up. Captain America’s shield lays inconspicuously by his bedside and he remembers that, yeah, he _had _been too slow to catch them. He had been too slow to catch Riley, too slow to stop Thanos (and, as a cause, not strong enough to save Natasha or Stark or _half the universe_). And Steve? Well, that’s an entirely different situation of in itself but it doesn’t once stop the guilt of seeing his friend slowly wither away.

The only other person that understands this clusterfuck of a situation, Sam has found, is James Buchanan Barnes.

It’s ironic, really, because Sam’s never been a fan of the Winter Soldier. He went along with Steve’s bullshit plan because it had been _Steve_. Now, with Steve gone and the team in splinters, Sam finds that Bucky is a surprisingly decent person when he’s not being a pain in the ass at any given hour.

Coincidently, Sam found the form of a roommate for his Brookyn apartment in one Bucky Barnes. At first, it had been because they both of them were trying to take care of Steve together because—holy shit, time travel is still a lot to think about—Steve is _old _now. Then it turned into trying to fix what’s left of a broken world together and, well, Bucky seems inclined to stay and Sam never tries to kick him out.

(Sam’s not heartless. He knows that Steve was all Bucky had left in this time period so he opens his home and isn’t once surprised that Bucky just doesn’t leave. It works out for the both of them, after all.)

Rescue ops, relief efforts, super-villains. It’s been eight months since the war, since everyone came back, but eight months is not enough time to distribute the little resources they have for a population that more than doubled in size. He and Bucky are running just about every operation imaginable with little time to spare and absolutely no team to lean back on.

(Tony Stark is dead. Natasha Romanoff is dead. Vision is dead. Clint is retired. Wanda is missing. Bruce is grounded due to injuries. Captain Marvel and Thor are both off world. T’Challa has his own country to attend to. Steve isn’t quite dead, but, well, with his age Sam doesn’t expect him to last much longer. Together, it paints a very dull picture for the future of the Avengers.)

Crime, too, is at its highest ever—a combination of lack of resources, losing housing, finding out who lived and who died—but that’s what Spider-Man is for. Sam is grateful for that at least, even if Spider-Man is an annoying little shit. 

(He’s not still bitter about Germany. He’s not bitter about being knocked around in that Berlin airport despite the fact that Spider-Man had appeared only six months beforehand. He’s _not_.)

At least, that’s what Sam tells himself as he wanders into the living room to rest—_finally!_—for the first time that week. He flicks on the television without a thought, places a cup of water on the coffee table and collapses on the couch. He opens his phone, scrolls through his notifications, and is content to not pay attention to the world.

A new section of his story starts, like most other and life-changing happenstances of the world, with the news.

Same’s not quite sure what catches his attention first. Possibly the _Breaking News_ coming from the news anchor on the screen, or possibly the familiar figure of Spider-Man in _London_ of all places. Possibly it’s the grim tone declaring that Spider-Man, local hero and resident pain in the ass, is wanted for the murder of hundreds of people after ordering a drone strike on the capital of the United Kingdom.

The words bur together just the slightest amount with the sudden dread that curls in his stomach. _“—with NBC news reporting live in New York City. Following the release of footage captured by locally acclaimed hero Mysterio, Spider-Man is revealed to be sixteen-year-old high school student Peter Parker. His last known sighting was earlier this afternoon in Times Square. If anyone has any information on his whereabouts, please report it to your local police station—_”

A high school yearbook picture of a kid pops up on TV. He _knows_ that kid. That’s the very same kid that stood in the front of Stark’s funeral with tears in his eyes and never once spoke a word to anyone. It hadn’t been weird at the time but now, eight months later with a picture of Spider-Man flashing in the dim light of his humble Brooklyn apartment, Sam doesn’t ever think he’s ever been so unaware.

Sam Wilson drops the remote. “What the_ fuck_?”

“Are you yelling at the TV again?” Bucky calls from the other side of the apartment.

Sam had forgotten about him in the ditzy haze spent trying to wrap his head around the fact that a sixteen year old _child _has been outed as Spider-Man and no one knows where he is.

“Barnes,” Sam says and tries to control his tone even though the woman on TV is repeating _Peter Parker, sixteen _over and over and _over_ again. “Get your ass in here _now_.”

There must be something in his tone because Bucky doesn’t offer a witty rebuttal. Instead, he walks in the room with a frown on his face. The news goes on the play the only evidence offered—a shaky video full of cuts from a bridge in London with Spider-Man standing, covered in cuts and bruises, sans mask with his face for the world to see and Mysterio crying foul. Sam knows bull when he sees it.

“Are you seeing this shit?”

“I’m seeing it,” Bucky says, voice tight.

Spider-Man might be aggravating and loud and obnoxious (_he’s sixteen_—), but he’s no villain. No villain would spend late nights helping with old ladies crossing the street and calming down mugging victims. No villain would go into space and never come back down. No villain would face Thanos and his army with that much fierce determination and reckless abandonment in order to save the lives of trillions of others at the cost of himself.

Sam sets his jaw. “He didn’t do it.”

Bucky crosses his arms.

“Barnes,” Sam says slowly. “He didn’t do it.”

Bucky gives him a look. “I know what being framed looks like, Wilson.”

“Sixteen_ goddman _years old—”

“He’s probably in a pretty bad spot right now,” Bucky says, as if it were nothing more than an observation but Sam knows a request when he hears it. “Wonder how long it’ll take before they find out Stark declared him an Avenger. Or how long before someone higher up finds him.”

They share a meaningful glance. So much for an afternoon of relaxing after missions. Being Captain America isn’t all its glammed out to be.

“Let’s go find him,” Sam says with a sigh. “I don’t want someone else to get him before we do.”

Barnes is already packing his bag, the asshole.

* * *

Living with a superspy, Sam finds, is incredibly useful.

Sam piles into his car with Bucky on his tail and just _drives_. He ends up parking the car in a lot in the middle of Queens just as the sun sets over the horizon.

Sam hasn’t even taken off his seatbelt before Bucky shoots off like a rocket and into the streets, Sam cursing as he chases after him. Bucky leads him through tangled alleyways and empty streets occasionally stopping to check something before changing directions and trying somewhere new. No amount of questioning on Sam’s part yields any straight answer which, honestly, is typical when working with something like Bucky.

He hopes they find that damn kid soon.

“You sure he’s even in Queens?” Sam asks as they exit yet another empty alleyway. There are sirens in the distance. “He might of fled New York for all we know.”

“Spider-Man is from Queens,” Bucky says with certainty. “He’s here somewhere.”

At least one of them is confident.

It’s another hour before they find anything. The sun has long since set, leaving the streets cold, empty and dark. Sam’s close to calling the search off and picking up tomorrow when Bucky freezes, backpedals and moves into the alley he just passed. Sam sighs, shoves his hands into his coat pockets, and follows.

This alley is dark, not unlike literally every other alley they’ve been in during their search. There’s a dumpster to the left and general New York sludge on the floor. All in all, there is absolutely nothing special about this alley except for the fact that Bucky has yet to move from the entrance since he first stepped foot there. He’s staring intently towards the shadows in the back of the alley. 

It takes a second for Sam’s eyes to adjust but when they do, it’s not only Bucky who spots the lone figure curls up near the edge of the dumpster.

“I’ll be damned,” Sam says. He tries to keep his voice low—he doesn’t know how the kid is going to react to them—but apparently either the kid has freaky good hearing or Sam is losing his touch because the kid shoots up from his curled up position to his feet in an instance.

Spider-Man is still wearing his suit despite his mask suspiciously gone. Unlike the one he wore to Germany, this suit is red and black and beaten to hell. There are stains of various colors on it. Sam can’t be sure that none of them are blood. His hair is windswept, his face dirty. It looks like he fought a tornado and lost. Badly. Dull panic lights in Spider-Man’s eyes the moment he notices Sam and Bucky at the mouth of the alleyway.

_Jesus fucking Christ_ Spider-Man is so painfully young.

They stare at each other, just for a second. Then the kid turns on his heels and furiously walks towards the back. There’s no exit—not a conventional one, anyways—but in the haze of trying to get away, the kid doesn’t seem to realize that. Or, he does, but has some freaky spider powers up his sleeve. Sam vaguely remembers something about climbing walls, which would be pretty damn bad if they were to lose the kid right when they found him.

Sam doesn’t know how to deal with kids, but he does know how to deal with trauma. He’s just got to get Spider-Man from running first. 

Bucky is surging ahead before Sam has a chance to react. “Hey, kid—”

Sam can hear the rattled breathing from here. Spider-Man isn’t listening, seemingly fully content to ignore the both of them as he sends himself into a panic-endued frenzy. The kid’s scared enough that he’s not thinking of anything except _get out _and _get away. _

Then Bucky says, “Peter, wait.”

The kid flinches like he’s been burned but stops just as well.

Peter doesn’t turned around. Sam stands next to Bucky. They share a glance before Sam inches forward and hopes the kid doesn’t bolt. “You are Peter, aren’t you? Peter Parker? You remember us at all?”

Sam’s not quite sure what the kid is thinking but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out its nothing good. Peter seizes up like he’s been shot and whirls around on the balls of his feet. The panic is ever present in his eyes. “I didn’t order that drone strike—I-I didn’t kill those civilians. _I didn’t mean for Mysterio to die_!” Peter’s voice cracks at the end. “He-the drones—I _told_ him that he would—but he didn’t _listen_ to me and he—"

“I know,” Sam says and holds up his hands even though he has no goddamn idea what’s going on. Working in the company of veterans with PTSD is one thing, but dealing with traumatized teenagers is a whole other book that Sam has yet to read.

“Kid, we aren’t here to take you in,” Bucky says because _of course_ he understands more than anyone—this situation is a near replica of what happened in Vienna all those years ago. “We’re here to help.”

Peter sinks to the ground, like his legs just can’t hold him anymore. His hands are shaking.

“I don’t—” Peter says, voice wrenched. Sam thinks, not for the first time, _holy shit_ Spider-Man is a _child_. “I don’t know what to do.”

Sam takes careful steps forward. Peter only brings his knees up to his chest and tries to control his breathing. Sam takes it as tentative permission to sink to the alley floor next to him. Bucky joins him on the ground moments later.

“This isn’t on you, kid,” Sam says. “Can you tell us what happened?”

Peter hesitates. He pulls his arms to his chest and hugs his knees that much tighter. For a moment, Sam is worried that the kid isn’t going to say anything at all. Then Peter tells them—in a low tone through tears—about his school trip, about the glasses, about Mysterio, about the battle.

When he’s done, the alley is damn near silent and Sam decides that there’s no time like the present to murder one Nick Fury.

“This isn’t on you,” Sam repeats.

“Everyone knows,” Peter’s voice wobbles just the barest amount. It’s a stark contrast from the confident chatterbox he met during the fight in Berlin but, well, given the circumstances Sam is more than willing to let it slide.

“Are you injured?” Bucky asks.

Peter seems taken aback for a moment, before he bites his lips and shakes his head. “I—no, I’m not hurt.”

Bucky isn’t impressed. “You want to try that again without the lying?”

Peter tenses. Now that his dizzying panic has passed, Sam can almost see the walls in Peter’s mind building back up.

Peter purses his lips. “I have some bruises from when I was trying to get away because people kept—” He cuts himself off, shakes his head. It’s, unfortunately, not hard to imagine what an angry mob of people would do after hearing the rampant bullshit being played on the news. “They’ll heal in a few hours anyways. It’s nothing.”

Sam’s a therapist by training. He knows damn well that not all injuries are physical.

“Thank you for not—for not turning me over to the police but I need to get home,” Peter says and makes to stand.

Sam catches him by the shoulder before he can rush out the alley. “Yeah, no. You can’t go home right now.”

“My aunt—my aunt is there. I have to—”

“Listen,” Sam says and thinks of the thousands of news stations around the world that currently have Peter’s face on them. “You really can’t go anywhere.”

Peter tries to shrug him off but Sam blocks the exit before the kid can make a run for it. The kid tenses up, like a spring. Sam’s almost worried this might end in a fight when he sees the desperation is bleeding back into his expression. “My friends and my aunt are in danger because of me _right now_ and I’ve only been sitting around and hiding_._ I have to—”

“Kid, stop.”

The kid stops.

“Don’t worry about your aunt,” Sam says. He’s got a plan for that in the form of a number he hasn’t called in years. “Or your friends. We’ll take care of those. Right now, if you go out there, you’re only going to make is worse. Okay?”

The tension leaks out of Peter’s frame. The desperation stays ever clear in his voice when he says, “Then where am I supposed to go?”

“You ever stayed in Brooklyn before?”

* * *

On the drive back, Peter mentions his worry about his aunt and friends a grand total of fifteen different times, almost makes a break for it twice, and ends up passed out in the backseat from pure exhaustion before they even reach home.

The kid doesn’t even flinch when Bucky carries him up the stairs to the door of their Brooklyn apartment. It’s a testament of how shitty a day he probably had.

“Is he dead?” Sam asks and fishes the keys from his pocket.

“Still breathing,” Bucky confirms.

Sam opens the door and shoulders his way in. Bucky follows, stopping only to gently put the kid down on the couch. He still doesn’t stir and now that Sam’s in halfway decent lighting and Sam see how awful the kid looks. His suit is ripped in spots with bruises and a variety of cuts littering his body. When he breathes, his chest rattles.

“Hope he has a healing factor because that doesn’t sound great,” Bucky says.

Sam runs his hands over his face. “What the fuck did we get ourselves into?”

“Steve would’ve done it.”

“Don’t bring Steve into this conversation,” Sam says. Then, “Shit, you’re right.”

“I’m making coffee,” Bucky says. “I hope you weren’t lying to him when you said we were taking care of his aunts and friends ‘cause I sure as hell don’t have a plan for that.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Sam asks and pulls out his phone. Bucky flips him off. “Of course I wasn’t lying to him.”

Bucky doesn’t push him further and instead choses to leave the room entirely. Sam is left with a teenager passed out of his couch and his phone in his hand. The clock on the counter says it’s a little past midnight but, well, sometimes calls like this can’t wait until morning. 

He unlocks his phone and dials the number. It picks up on the third ring.

“Happy Hogan,” Sam says. “It’s been a while.”

“Your idea is to call Stark’s _bodyguard_?” Bucky calls incredulously from the kitchen. Sam ignores him.

Happy obviously doesn’t hear Bucky because he huffs out a breath of air. “Sam Wilson. Can’t say this is a call I expected. What’s Captain America doing calling my cell at midnight?”

“Figured you might want to know about the passed out teenager on my couch since he was Stark’s ward and all.”

“He wasn’t Tony’s ward,” Happy says immediately before he pauses and the rest of the sentence catches up to him. “You found him?”

“We found him,” Sam confirms.

“We?”

“You remember Bucky Barnes?”

The pause on the other side of the line means that Happy very much remembers Barnes. “Unfortunately. How’s the kid?”

Bucky yells something from the other side of the apartment but Sam ignores him. Peter continues to sleep through all of this. Some of the bruises are already starting to face and the rattling in his chest is starting to disappear so Sam adds _healing factor_ to his mental checklist concerning Spider-Man.

“Out of his mind worried about his aunt and his friends but he’s safe so that must count for something,” Sam says.

“More than you’ll ever know,” Happy says. There’s tangible relief on the other side of the line and Sam has to wonder, not for the first time, how much has changed in the years he was running from the law and the years he was dusted. “When he wakes up, tell him not to worry. They’re safe with me right now.”

“Good,” Sam says. “What do I do with the kid?”

“Keep him there,” Happy says and before Sam can even think to protest, he continues, “Your place is about the safest he can be right now. Pepper and I are figuring this out right now. We’ve got a private investigation going on. With luck, his name will be cleared by the end of the week. Some people are already calling bullshit on the video, which helps.”

“Doesn’t help that his name is already out in the world, though,” Sam says.

Happy sighs, bone deep and weary. “No. It doesn’t.”

At this point in the conversation, it would be wise to hang up. There’s nothing more to say and nothing more to tell Happy. He doesn’t mind the kid staying to get back on his feet and knows Bucky doesn’t either. Soon, this mess will be cleared, the kid will go back into the world and do his normal spider-bullshit and life will continue. All in all, there’s absolutely nothing stopping him ending the conversation and hanging up.

Sam, for some inexplicable and inane reason, doesn’t hang up. He glances at the kid sleeping on his couch.

Spider-Man is strong; Sam has seen (and felt) it firsthand. He proved himself in Berlin, again in space and again during the war. One of Stark’s last actions was to make that kid an Avenger. Sam knows the kid can handle himself.

Even then, there are situations where strength alone won’t—_can’t_— do anything.

“Let me do something,” Sam says. “To help.”

It’s what Steve would’ve done.

Happy’s voice is carefully measured when he says, “I don’t think there’s much you can do right now.”

“I’m Captain America,” Sam says and thinks of the shield placed by his bed. “If I can’t clear a kid’s name then I’m not good for much of anything, am I?”

Sam thinks he hears Bucky laugh in the other room. The sleeping kid on the couch is the only think keeping Sam from telling Bucky exactly how he feels about him right at this very moment.

Happy sighs. “It’s going to be a shitshow.”

“You know what was a shitshow? Germany. This? This is nothing.”

There’s a snort on the other end of the line. Happy almost sounds fond when he says, “The kid wouldn’t stop talking about Berlin for the longest time. He likes you. He thought your wings were cool. He went on about that and Barnes’ metal arm for a solid three weeks. I still have the voicemails.”

Sam thinks he’s hearing things because Happy Hogan has never been found of anyone, ever.

“Is that so?”

Then Happy says, “Don’t get attached,” and Sam is left to wonder how the fuck the kid got a man like _Happy Hogan_ to become attached in the first place.

“I’m not going to get attached,” Sam says. He watches as Bucky enter the room with an arm full of blankets and carefully places them on the kid. The kid doesn’t even stir.

He’s not going to get attached to some punk-ass spider-kid from Queens. He’s _not_.

The sound on the other side of the line sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “Sure. I’ll let Pepper know that he’s safe. I’ll call and update you later.”

“We’ll keep an eye on the kid,” Sam says.

“Thank you,” Happy says. “For finding him. He’s very good at getting into bad situations.”

Sam snorts. That’s not particularly hard to imagine. Sam almost tells Happy goodnight when an unbidden thought comes to mind and he remembers, with a jolt, why the kid had been in London in the first place. “Wait.”

“What?”

“By chance,” Sam says and tries to keep his voice even. “Do you happen to have a contact for Nick Fury?”

* * *

“—What the fuck do you mean he’s _NOT ON EARTH?_ I have a traumatized teenager passed out on my couch because of _his _bullshit—Oh, no, _no, no_. Get me in contact with him _right now_ or so help me god I will fly up to space personally—Yes, I _will_—"

From the other side of the apartment Bucky groans, flips a pillow over his head, and goes back to sleep. Peter never once stirs the entire night.

* * *

Peter wakes up the next morning, confused and disgruntled all at once. Then he panics, again, and it’s almost a half hour before Sam can calm him down enough for him to form complete sentences. Bucky presses a pair of folded clothes that absolutely won’t fit in Peter’s hands and tells him to go get changed and maybe take a shower. Peter does so without a word of protest.

They both end up migrating to the kitchen. Bucky rummages through the cabinets while Sam works on pancakes.

It’s almost nostalgic; opening up his home and making pancakes for wayward superheroes yet again.

“I couldn’t get in contact with Fury,” Sam says. “He’s off world, apparently.”

“I heard,” Bucky gripes and then pulls out some eggs from the refrigerator and gets to work making breakfast. Bucky can cook, apparently, which isn’t all the surprising because Steve also was a half-way decent chef when he wanted to be. Sam can’t say he’s not at least a bit grateful for it.

“He sent one of his shapeshifting friends to do the work,” Sam continues. “Danvers’ friends too.”

Bucky pauses, “Aliens?”

“Aliens,” Sam agrees.

Bucky looks as irritated as Sam feels. Aliens, he’s found, just really fucking suck. Even the good ones.

The sounds of the shower in the other room abruptly stops and it’s not long after that Peter comes walking back into the kitchen area, nearly silent. He stands awkwardly in the doorway, hair damp. The clothes almost swallow him whole, but the bruising and cuts have already faded into nothing. He holds his dirty, tattered suit with both hands.

“Uh,” Peter says and doesn’t move.

“You can sit down, kid,” Bucky says. “Leave your suit on the counter. We’ll clean it later.”

Peter seems more than little reluctant to hand the suit over, but does so anyways. He moves to sit at the bar, a stool away from Sam and doesn’t meet any of their eyes. He doesn’t make a move to grab any of the breakfast laid out in front of him.

“You want anything?” Bucky asks.

Peter shakes his head, mutely. Bucky pushes a plate near him anyways.

“You were a lot more talkative in Berlin,” Bucky says.

It’s the wrong thing to say and Sam knows it the moment he hears it. _Of course _Peter would have been be more talkative in Germany—right now, he’s sixteen, alone, and forced to watch as his loved ones are put in danger and his life crumbles before his eyes.

Peter only shrugs, offers a mumbled apology and looks anywhere but Bucky’s face.

Sam shoots him a look from the other side of the kitchen. Bucky stares him down with a glare when he's sure Peter isn't looking.

“So, _Spider-Man_,” Sam drawls. Peter glances up from where he’s hesitantly picking at his breakfast. “You choose that name because you wanted to or?”

“I got bit,” Peter mumbles. “Radioactive spider.”

“No shit?” Bucky says.

“So you get bit by a radioactive spider and decide, what?” Sam asks. “That you’re going to be a superhero now?”

Peter’s looking at them now, which is an improvement, but Sam doesn’t like the way he says, “Something like that,” and doesn’t elaborate. There’s more to that story than Peter’s sharing, but Sam’s really damn good at knowing not to push.

Bucky lean forward a bit in his seat. “So kid. What, exactly, can you do?”

“Not a kid,” Peter insists but continues with, “I have this, uh? Sixth sense, kind of? It lets me know when danger is around. It’s kinda like weaponized anxiety—”

“Weaponized anxiety,” Bucky repeats.

“I have enhanced senses. I’m sticky,” Peter continues like he hadn’t heard Bucky at all. “And I’m strong.”

Sam’s seen the videos. He’s seen the kid fight in person, at the Berlin airport and again during the war. He’s keenly aware that Peter is probably the strongest, in terms of strength alone, in the room at the moment. He’s also very keenly aware that it had been Peter to knock them both on their asses despite being green.

“The webs,” Sam says. “They come out of you?”

“I made them,” Peter shows them his wrists and, sure enough, the wrist bands expand into some sort of contraction. Sam’s never really been a mechanic—general maintenance on his wings are about as advanced as he gets. “The shooters and webs are my design. MJ says it’s a ride or die on the aesthetic scale but they help for mobility and subduing people without hurting them.”

Steve had no qualms about not pulling his punches in a fight. Nor does Sam or Bucky or any of the old Avengers. Sam doesn’t know Peter well enough to know if that’s because he’s green or if that’s just the kind of person Peter is.

“I don’t want to hurt people,” Peter continues. “If I hurt people, then I’d be no better than the bad guys.”

(It’s just the kind of person Peter is.)

Bucky catches that too if the smile is anything to go by, “You’re made of some pretty tough-stuff, Spider-Kid.”

“It’s Spider-Man,” Peter mumbles but there’s a hint of a smile on his face and, well, that’s a start.

* * *

The first day passes and come morning on the second day of their unexpected roommate, Peter opens up that much more. They call Happy again and let him talk to his aunt and friends. Sam doesn’t listen to the conversation but the kid is noticeably more relaxed after the call. Sam even manages to weasel out buckets of information (ranging from his uncle to his aunt to what, exactly, happened in London) from conversations hidden as therapy sessions.

There’s a point in time that Sam thinks he _might_ just have a handle on this mess of a situation but then Peter catches sight of the news proudly showing the same shaky video of Mysterio and promptly shuts down again. It takes them hours (and several promises that _they’re working on it, so don’t worry_) before Peter will say anything other than apologizes or one or two word responses.

Sam bans the news from his household for the time being.

Eventually, all three of them end up longing in the living room with a nature documentary playing in the background—it’s _not the news_—and books scattered around the room. Bucky is reading a book from the other side of the couch. Sam’s been fiddling with the wiring in Redwing for the better part of an hour at this point and his frustration is mounting. His wings are resting on the coffee table. Sam’s not quite sure what Peter’s doing, exactly, but he’s not making a mess and he’s not hurting anything so Sam lets him continue. Every once in a while, Peter glances at the insane amount of weaponry in poorly hidden curiosity.

He’s no tech guy. He’s _never_ been a tech guy. Sam’s a military man through and through. His tech guy—the _Avengers’ _tech guy— had always been Stark but that bridge had been burned years ago and, well, just when they started to fix it Stark went and sacrificed himself for half the universe. 

(Sam hadn’t cried at the funeral but he had thought about better days— back when the team had been a team and Thanos was but a mere whisper in space. He’s grateful for Stark, at least, because half the universe is alive and breathing and living because of that decision he made on that battlefield a mere eight months before.)

It’s interesting, really, because nine months ago (five years and nine months ago), he’d been on the run from the government. Just a group of ex-superspies, the symbol of American patriotism and a girl who blows things up with her mind jumping from city after city. Now, he’s stuck in a Brooklyn apartment, trying to fix his own gear with an ex-assassin and a spider-teenager for company.

_Life’s a real joke_, Sam thinks. Then, the wiring he’d been working on in Redwing’s systems slips and the connection is lost.

“_Motherfuck_—” Sam snaps. He drops the drone in his lap.

Peter stops what he’s doing and eyes Sam. Hesitantly, he asks, “Can I see it?”

Sam almost says no. He probably should’ve said no, if he’s being honest with himself. A teenager messing with a highly advanced piece of weaponry isn’t Sam’s ideal Sunday bonding activity. Then, he realizes it’s the first time the kid has asked for anything since he got here and, well, Sam figures he can’t make the situation any worse. Still, though. Redwing is his favorite.

Sam hands the drone over. “His name is Redwing.”

Peter takes it slowly, running his fingers over the drone’s sleek design. There’s a smile on his face when he says, “Is this thing gonna fling me out a window again?”

It takes Sam a second to realize that for what it is—a joke. It’s the first time Peter's let out the wisecracks he’s known for since he came here.

Bucky snorts from his position on the other side of the couch. “Only if you web us to the floor.”

Peter’s smiling now—teeth showing, eyes bright and nothing like the looks he’s been giving them since yesterday. He turns his attention back to the drone and is suddenly ripping into it, fiddling with the wires, reordering the framing and moving the panels. He’s tears apart the drone with childlike curiosity and _damn_ if the kid isn’t sharp. His eyes flicker over the bits and pieces with a familiar intensity he’s seen before, a long time ago. The kid has Redwing up and running after just a few short minutes.

Sam’s no tech guy but Peter? Peter is.

Sam catches Bucky’s eyes and knows that he sees it too. Bucky might never have known Stark, but Steve did and the stories he’d shared were more than enough to paint the picture.

Peter notices them staring and squints. “What?”

He’s everything Steve and Stark were, compacted in the body of a teenager with a heart of gold and a bounty on his head framing him for the murder of a man who ruined his life.

“Nothing,” Sam says. “You just remind me of someone for a second. An old teammate of mine.”

* * *

Peter starts gets restless after the fourth day.

He’s torn apart and re-put back together every electronic piece Sam currently owns. Sam tries to entertain him with conversations but half the time Sam is off working on the private investigation and the mounting evidence against one Quinten Beck. Sam ends up dumping the entertaining-teenager responsibility on Bucky who’s not really much of a talker at all.

Unfortunately for Bucky, Peter is definitely just as talkative as he was in Germany if he gets going on the right topic. Fortunately for Bucky, he likes the kid. Sam knows. He can see it.

(“Your arm is really cool,” Peter says.

Bucky obediently holds it out. For a second, Peter seems surprised. Then his face lights up and he’s suddenly checking out every nook and cranny and mechanic of the ins and outs of Bucky’s vibranium metal arm.

Sam mouths the word _sucker _to Bucky’s face. Bucky flips him off when he thinks Peter isn’t looking.)

“I have homework. So much homework,” Peter is saying to Bucky who’s not _really _listening but still nodding along at all the right moments. Then Peter buries his head in his hands and groans. “Oh, god. School is going to be a nightmare. I don’t even know if I’m allowed back.”

Bucky hums, noncommittally.

“You know what?” Peter says to Bucky. “Maybe something positive will come out of this. Maybe I can finally convince Susan Yae that I’m not a male escort. That doesn’t help me being behind but now everyone knows that I wasn’t sneaking out to do like, drugs or something ‘cause that would be bad. And also illegal.”

Sam hides his laugh in the world’s most suspicious cough.

Bucky slides his tablet over to where Peter is sitting. Peter stares at it, more than a little confused.

“I don’t have any use for it anyways,” Bucky says. “Not my style. Use it for your homework or whatever. That way you’re not so behind when you go back to school.”

Peter lights up and buries his nose in the screen.

Sam rolls his eyes, decides that now is going to be the best time he’s going to get and interrupts with, “Barnes. We need to talk.”

Bucky gives him a look but makes to stand. He says to Peter, “Don’t google yourself.”

The tapping on the screen stops. Peter at least looks a tad guilty lying to Bucky’s face. “I wasn’t.”

“Trust me, kid,” Bucky says. “Do not google yourself.”

“Barnes,” Sam says, again. Bucky lets out a breath of air but follows him into another room anyways. The door is shut behind him—not that it will do much considering the kid’s scary good hearing, but he’s banking on the fact that Peter will be too distracted with the tablet to think to listen on to their conversation.

Bucky crosses his arms. “What do you want, Wilson?”

“I’m going to be gone most of tomorrow,” Sam says. “The Avengers are releasing the information from the kid’s case and want me to give a statement. He’s not going, so watch him.”

“They got that out fast,” Bucky says and luckily doesn’t try to pick a fight. “Think it will do anything?”

Not in the ways that count.

“I don’t know,” Sam says, instead. “Spider-Man is popular around New York and most people didn’t believe the video to begin with. There was a reason it was released to the Daily Bulge and not some other source. It doesn’t change the fact that the kid’s name is still out to the public.”

“He could become a full time Avenger.”

“No,” Sam says and doesn’t elaborate.

Spider-Man, by definition, is more than capable of becoming an Avenger, however Sam’s never been one for child soldiers and he’s not ready to take that kid’s future away from him so easily. He’s seen too many young veterans pass through with more scars than they can deal with to willingly put a sixteen year old on the front lines.

“I don’t think there’s much of a choice here.” 

“Happy will pick him up after,” Sam continues as if he hadn’t heard. “He’ll stay at the compound with his aunt until they find somewhere new to live.”

Bucky’s staring at him in a way that makes him pause—Sam’s lived with him for too long not to know his cues. The way that Bucky is subtly glancing at the closed door isn’t really the most inconspicuous form of body language either.

“Barnes, if you have something to say then say it,” Sam says.

Bucky’s attention snaps back. His words come out as more of a question than a statement when he says, “I don’t think I hate the kid?”

_No shit_, Sam thinks. Out loud, he says, “And?”

“He’s stubborn and a punk but…”

Sam raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“He reminds me of Steve,” Bucky says. “From before. Same self-sacrificing streak, same sharpness, same attitude.”

Sam nods because, yeah, he’s noticed that too. “They’re similar.”

“I don’t want them to be,” Bucky says, “Sam, I don’t want that kid to end up like Steve did.”

_Or Stark_ goes unsaid.

“He won’t,” Sam says. What he doesn’t say, however, is spending late nights and early mornings with his nose in the kid’s private investigation file. He doesn’t say the new protocols at the compound that let Peter in whenever should he need it. He doesn’t say the hours he’s spent on the phone with Happy and Pepper trying oh so hard to get this kid some peace, finally.

(He’s not getting attached.)

Like the comedic timing genius he is, Peter chooses this exactly moment to burst through the room and interrupt whatever Bucky might’ve said in response. There’s a grin on his face and a look in his eyes and Sam _knows_ that look. Nothing good comes from a teenager with a look like that.

“—Bucky!” Peter bursts through he room. “Bucky, _oh my god_. I just thought of the best thing. Did you hear about the guy who lost his left arm? He’s all right now.”

Peter’s staring pointedly at the metal arm on Bucky’s left side. Sam watches as Bucky’s face goes through all seven stages of grief right before his eyes.

“I take it back,” Bucky tells Sam. “I take everything I said back. I actually hate him.”

Peter’s full on cackling by now, just like a normal teenager full of bad humor and even worse jokes. The fond look Bucky is giving is more than telling. In his tiny Brooklyn home, Sam can’t keep the grin off his face.

_Fuck,_ Sam thinks, _I’m getting attached_

* * *

Sam’s outside the press room with Happy Hogan at his side. They’re scheduled to release the private investigation finding and the unedited footage from EDITH proving Peter’s innocence.

Sam’s seen the footage on EDITH. It’s not pretty.

“So,” Happy says because apparently peace is something that cannot be offered Sam doesn’t remember Happy being this talkative five years ago. “Did you get attached?”

Sam doesn’t say anything. Unfortunately, that of in itself is more than enough information if the look he’s getting is anything to go by.

“He’s weirdly magnetic,” Happy agrees.

“Man, shut the hell up,” Sam says. His shield feels just the slightest bit too heavy (_still feels like it belongs to someone else—_) and the Captain America suit he’s wearing had been tailored to fit Steve. It’s more than a little uncomfortable.

“Captain America doesn’t curse.”

Captain America cursed all the time. He was just really damn good at hiding it. Sam does not tell Happy this.

“When are we on?” Sam asks, instead.

“In a minute or so. The PI is going over the case right now with Pepper, ” Happy says. There’s a sudden sound of camera clicks, chairs falling and loud voices—shouts, calls, hollers, demands—that echo from the room. “Never mind. That’s your cue. You ready?”

He hoists the shield just the barest bit higher and secretly hopes that nothing will go wrong. A kid’s future is hinging on this, after all.

“As always.”

* * *

Sam stumbles into his apartment long past midnight, aching all over and ears ringing from the bombardment of questions that he had faced the majority of the day.

It will be baby steps from here on out—while the majority of the public no longer believes the lies Mysterio had worked so hard to spread, there is still the issue of Peter's name being out in the open. His home, his friends, his family, his school can be found by a simple google search. Unfortuently, Spider-Man has a lot of enemies that won't actually care about his age or whether or not he passed his high-school algebra test. 

“_—and need I remind everyone that the burden of proof is on the one who declares, not on one who denies_,” Sam hears his own voice as it plays through the screen. He steps in the living room, not surprised to see Peter’s eyes glued to the screen. “_With respect to the critical facts of the case—whether the crime charged was committed and whether the defendant was the person who committed the crime—the state has the entire burden of proof. But this is not a case and Spider-Man was never charged with a crime due to a crime never being committed. The actions of Mysterio and the people who worked for him were not to express truth, but to belittle and orchestrate a hero who has done nothing more than save others as you all have seen now. To close this, I would like to remind everyone that in the chaos of that war, it wasn’t any of _you_ fighting Thanos on that field. It was Spider-Man. Everything he’s done, he’s done for us. Should he chose, he will continue to be New York’s hero and fellow Avenger. Thank you.”_

Peter turns to him, more than a little misty eyed. “You really didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, kid,” Sam says. “I did.”

(He’s attached. He’s so attached.)

“Thank you,” Peter says and it’s so full of emotion that Sam thinks the kid might start crying then and there. Then, there’s a smile on his face and he says, “For the record, I think you make a great Captain America, Mr. Wilson, sir.”

“It’s Sam, spider-kid. You’ve been living at my house for a week now. You can call me by my first name.”

“Of course, Mr. Wilson, sir,” Peter says and yep—there’s the smile. That little shit.

* * *

“Thank you,” Peter says, standing on the steps of their Brooklyn apartment the next morning. He has no bag or belongings other than the clothes on his back but there’s a wild smile on his face as he stands in front of Sam and Bucky. “I mean it. Thanks, y’know. For finding me and believing me.”

“It’s called common decency,” Sam tells him.

From the street, Happy honks his horn impatiently. Peter doesn’t even glance in his direction.

“Can I give you guys a hug or would that be weird?” Peter asks. Bucky just opens his arms and suddenly Peter’s rushing into it with mumbled, repeated _thank yous_. Underneath that gruff exterior and metal arm, Bucky’s the softest out of all of them.

Bucky lets him go and Peter turns to Sam.

Sam points at him. “Do not hug me.”

Peter hugs him, but only because the kid is freakishly fast and freakishly strong.

Sam awkwardly pats him on the back a few times and tries to ignore the muffled laughter from Bucky. When he releases him, Peter is grinning.

“You know what you’re going to do now?” Bucky asks. Happy honks his horn again.

“I wanted to go to college,” Peter rubs the back of his head. “Before everything. I think I still do but it'll be hard 'cause my face and my name. I have to graduate high school first, though.”

“You’ll do great,” Sam says. “And Spider-Man?”

_Should he chose, _Sam had said during that interview. There’s a very real possibility that Peter would hang up the suit and Spider-Man would be no more. He wouldn’t blame the kid.

Peter only looks confused. “What about Spider-Man?”

“Are you still going to go out with the suit?”

Peter blinks at him. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Sam shares a glance with Bucky. This fucking kid.

Happy honks his horn for the third time and Bucky gently pushes the kid in that direction. “Alright, kid. Into the car. Happy’s going to have an aneurism if we take any longer and your aunt has been trying to see you since Tuesday.”

The kid lights up, all smiles and laughter. He’s down the steps and poking his head in the car. Sam can’t hear what he’s saying but apparently the kid thinks it’s fantastic because he’s in the door and rolling the window down not moments later. “Bye, Mr. Wilson! Bye, Mr. Barnes! See you later, thank you for everything!”

They both wave from the stairs and, well, Sam thinks everything will probably be alright in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> sam wilson & bucky barnes: we've only had this child for a week but if anything happened to him we would kill everyone in this room and ourselves
> 
> listen, if the superhero community doesnt come together after what happened to peter then honestly whats the POINT
> 
> as always [my tumblr](http://blu-eh.tumblr.com)!


End file.
